Roommates
by Crimson Idealist
Summary: Bobby remembers the first time he met John.


Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Bobby and John belong to Stan Lee, Marvel Comics, and 20th Century Fox. I am simply a humble fan.  
  
Author's Note: This is completely gen.  
  
Bobby Drake sat on his bed and stared at the other side of the room. Since it had been empty for two months, he should have been used to it by now. That wasn't the case, though. Even though the personal items had been moved out, the betrayal of the friend who slept there was still fresh in his mind.  
  
He still couldn't believe John had done it. Why didn't he stop him? He could have frozen the door shut or maybe just frozen John's feet to the ground. Maybe he should have gone with him. He could have stopped him, could have talked him out of joining Magneto. Maybe he could have convinced him to give Xavier's another chance. Way too many maybes.  
  
As each one of these questions entered his mind, he unconsciously curled his fingers into a fist. Each one seemed to reinforce the idea that he could have done something. He always felt like he and John had a certain level of respect for each other, a friendship that was rather solid. However unlikely that friendship may have been. In fact, as he remembered it, John Allerdyce hadn't wanted a roommate at all.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Clutching his bags, an awkward fifteen-year old boy with blondish-brown curls and large ice blue eyes slowly made his way down the second floor hall of the vast mansion, checking the doors for room fourteen. He had never been in a house this big and had already lost his way twice that day. When he finally found the door, he noticed that it was wide open and that loud music was pouring out of the room it lead to. Who else would be in the room with him? He wondered. Taking a deep breath, he ambled inside.  
  
The dark-haired boy on the bed closest to the door never once looked up. Apparently, he didn't even know that anyone had come in. He was completely lost in the thumping of the drums and the roaring of the guitars. Dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he thrashed his arms about as if he were playing air drums.  
  
Glancing from the guy over to the desk beside the bed, Bobby noticed a well- worn leather jacket draped across the chair and a beat-up backpack sticking out from under it. The desk was littered with a mix of schoolbooks, comics, and a dented black notebook. The wall above it was covered with posters of pretty girls, hard rock bands, and one of Jimi Hendrix knelt down on stage, encouraging his fire-lit guitar.  
  
Shrugging off the lack of a welcome, he crossed the room to the bed near the window. This side was completely barren in contrast to the other side. Hoisting his large suitcase, it hit the bed with a loud thud, causing his roommate's CD to skip. Obviously, this must have gotten the other boy's attention because the music was shut off immediately.  
  
"I was suppose to have a room to myself," he said dangerously.  
  
Bobby turned around, his eyes locking on his new roommate. "Sorry. Looks like you're gonna have to share."  
  
The other boy jumped off his bed and crossed the room in a few strides. As he leaned against the wall, Bobby noticed that he was several inches shorter. This didn't seem to intimidate the other guy in the least; he had an attitude that made up for the lack of height. Immediately whipping out a lighter, he flicked it open. Who did this guy think he was? James Dean?  
  
"Hey, man. This is my room; you're gonna have to leave."  
  
Bobby just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his luggage. Without saying a word, he unzipped the bag and took out some of the contents.  
  
This didn't sit well with the other boy. He immediately stood up to his full height (which came just to Bobby's chin) and glared up at him. "Hey, you ignoring me?"  
  
"Is it that obvious?" Bobby answered drolly.  
  
Judging by the sound of the lighter lighting, it seemed that Bobby's snarky statement didn't sit well with his new roommate. He glanced up to see the other boy pull the small flame into his free hand and cause it to grow into the size of a baseball. He started tossing it up and down, a daring look in his hazel eyes and a nasty smile on his lips.  
  
"Now I've got your attention," he said. "You're thinking about leaving now, aren't you?"  
  
"No." Bobby's bored expression never changed. "That fireball of yours would freeze before it'd touch my stuff."  
  
The other boy arched an eyebrow. "And just how are you going to do that?"  
  
Holding out his hand, Bobby produced a stream of cold air. It wrapped itself around the fireball and froze it solid. The other boy was so surprised that he dropped the ball, causing it to break.  
  
"How the hell.?" he exclaimed.  
  
Bobby just shrugged. "The same way you made it into a ball."  
  
The dark-haired boy closed the lighter and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall again. "What's your name?"  
  
"Bobby Drake," he answered as he went back to unpacking.  
  
"I'm John Allerdyce; I guess you can stay."  
  
When Bobby didn't look up, he heard John move from the wall and shuffle back to the bed. Everything was smooth sailing from then on out.  
  
* * * *  
  
Bobby had been clinching his fist so hard that he had created a small ball of ice in the center of his palm. He didn't realize it until he felt it there. Pulling his arm back, he launched it across the room, and it broke apart when it hit the opposite wall.  
  
He thought he knew John, thought he could trust him. How could he just leave like that and with Magneto, of all people? Maybe someday he would understand. For now, though, it felt better to smash balls of ice against the wall. 


End file.
